Happily Ever After
by practically geriatric
Summary: Some years after the downfall of the notorious Marissa Fittes, the prestigious agency of Lockwood and Company is looking to train some new kids with fresh talent. Will James Rush, citizen of Aldbury Castle, make the cut?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: let's be real - this isn't likely to happen. But I couldn't help but wonder what their lives would look like if they managed to defeat Fittes and stay alive. This is playing with an idea I had for the end of Listen, so if you read that this'll sound familiar, but the two stories are unrelated. I don't intend for this to be some great saga, just a brief glimpse into what their lives could be like. Let me know what you think (especially since writing original characters is so tricky).

…

James had been six years old when the agents of Lockwood and Co saved his home of Aldbury Castle from the Creeping Shadow. Not nine months later they uncovered the truth behind the Problem itself, and defeated its primary Source - the great Marissa Fittes. When he was eight, they ran their first advert in the national paper:

"The prestigious psychic investigative agency of Lockwood and Company is seeking to train new employees. Potential applicants must be at least 10 years of age and possess impressive Talent. Successful applicants will be brave, honest, and hardworking. Interviews will be conducted on August 15th, beginning at 8:00 am, at our offices of 35 Portland Row."

Those few months living in terror of the Shadow and its stirred up hoard were enough to scare most of his friends away from being agents, but James was not like his friends. He'd been one of the kids to glimpse the Shadow and its black flames. He'd even stayed up late several nights in a row just to watch the agency do their work throughout the small town. The rest of the kids cowered in their beds, knowing that a battle was occurring just outside their door - they would shiver and whisper the next morning about how they knew they were safest when the agents had gone, because that meant the ghost had been conquered. But not James. To James, sneaking out to watch the agents had the same thrill as sneaking downstairs to catch Santa Claus delivering presents. By the end of their stay, he'd summoned up the courage to climb onto the roof, a fistfull of lavender in his teeth for protection.

He watched as Agent Kipps dashed about, protecting the lovely Agent Munroe from a tricky Type Two. She threw a salt bomb to distract it, giving Kips a chance to slash it to pieces with his rapier. Agent Cubbins took this opportunity to seal the Source (a keepsake hidden beneath one of the stones in the garden wall). He whooped in victory with them, sharing their elation at another Visitor sent packing as if he'd thrown his own salt bomb.

And now - finally - he was more than old enough to apply. His mother wouldn't let him go when he was ten, believing him too young and too naive. And - to his utter shame - he was too scared and insecure to face moving to London last year. Most of that was due to Danny Skinner, who had bragged to no end about how he and Anthony Lockwood were good friends and refused outright to write James a letter of recommendation. He didn't want James to embarrass him.

The shame of missing out last year combined with the resolve to show that pompous Danny Skinner he was mistaken resulted in the conviction that this year, come hell or high water, James Rush was going to knock on the door of 35 Portland Row.

There was just one problem.

There was no advert this year.

Panic gripped the poor young boy's heart. For the past three years, from July 15 - August 14, the Times had printed this call for agents. What could possibly be different about this year? Had the interviews been postponed? Did they have enough agents?

James had no concept of what it took to run an agency. Unlike the Fittes and Rotwell Group, which had survived under the supervision of DEPRAC despite the now infamous reputation of its founders, Lockwood and Co did not set much store by fancy letters or rapier levels. What he did know was that Lockwood and Co was now the most exclusive psychic organization in the country. He'd heard legends about how difficult the application tests were, and those who passed them were sworn to secrecy. Every year, articles following "interview day" speculated about what qualities the agency was testing for. None of them seemed to be able to do more than guess what "impressively Talented" or "brave, honest, and hardworking" meant. He would give anything to fit those requirements.

He ambled from his house to the creek. It was a pleasant walk, though it did take the better half of an hour to complete. Moodily, he parked himself on the edge of the bridge. His gangly legs jutted out through the posts so his oversized feet could dangle in the water.

Brushing his fingers against the rail of the bridge, he relaxed and let himself be swept up by the memories left behind in the wood. Since it had been built, hundreds of small encounters had taken place: heartbreaks and chance meetings, nefarious business interactions and public ceremonies of transition, professions of love, father son fishing trips, and death. Always death.

As far as forgetting one's own troubles went, this was not a bad place. Each time he came he could experience something new. Once he was finished with his excursions into the past, he began to conder what he could do next.

This past year had been miserable. When his friends asked why he wasn't in London on August 15th, he lied and said he couldn't afford the train ticket. In reality, that money had been saved up and stored in an old sock under the floorboards since he was nine. At this point, he probably had enough for not only a round trip but also a few nights at a hotel or inn. Maybe, if he kept coming back for a few mornings in a row, they'd give him a chance.

It was either that or spend the next year wallowing in self pity and regret. In reality, he'd made his choice when he was six. He wasn't going to keep coming back to this bridge and live other lives. It was time to lead his own. He was 12 years old now. It was time to do something.

Tomorrow, he was taking the train to London. Tomorrow, August 15th at 8:00 am, he was going to knock on the door to 35 Portland Row. Tomorrow, he would become an agent.


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony Lockwood made an exasperated grunt as James watched him heave his very, very pregnant wife off of the couch. She had to pee.

In fact, it was because Lucy was having a baby that the Lockwoods had decided not to interview new candidates this year. What they hadn't anticipated was the impressively long line of children who'd queued up outside their door anyway.

Unsure of what else to do, they set about the business of meeting the children. Holly put the kettle on. George (begrudgingly) let them in one at a time to take down individual information. Lucy collected items to test their Senses (not to mention their honesty, and - for that matter - their bravery). Lockwood set up the basement for a rapier assessment, should anyone even make it to that part of the examination.

By the time James was gestured into what looked like a living room and given a cuppa, the Lockwoods were wearied, harried, and more than a little annoyed. The past few candidates had almost immediately failed the first test. He'd watched, astounded, as each one left the room flushed with shame. The older ones had yelled and made rude gestures.

It was all he could do not to wet his pants when he finally sat in front of the great - the legendary - Lockwood Family. He'd worn his very best coat and tie for the occasion, but a country boy's Sunday best paled in comparison to the tailored suit Lockwood wore. At least Lucy seemed more human in elastic jeans and a tshirt, but she probably wouldn't return to the room for awhile. He just hoped he wouldn't get too sweaty, because then his pale brown hair would become suspiciously dark at his temples and his blue button down would become navy at the armpits.

"Right," Agent Lockwood said, tired. "Let's get this over with. This first test is simplicity itself, though no one seems to believe me when I tell them that anymore. What do you Sense in this object?"

James' face lit up. The first test was Touch! He is _so good_ at psychic Touch! A broad, slightly manic grin stretch across his face. With shaky fingers, he took the object from Lockwood's hand. That was no good, though - he'd never get a read off of it if he was this excited.

One quivering breath. One deep breath. One confident breath. _Just pretend you're at the bridge_ , he told himself. His hands stilled, relaxed. The item turned out to be a porcelain cup - he didn't spend a lot of time looking at it. What it looked like wasn't important. Whatever trace it had must be either very faint or very distant - there was almost nothing there. He sat for ages, waiting.

He began to get nervous. What if he wasn't good enough? After all, just because Touch was his strong suit in his village didn't mean anything in a big city like London. His dad had told him something like that. But…

Three more deep, confident breaths. He could do this. He knew he could. He tapped into whatever it was that housed this thing's psychic memory and finally - finally - felt something tug.

When he was seven, his got a one pound coin for his birthday. It was his first ever bit of money, and he kept it in his pocket for weeks. He brought it out one day to see if he could make it walk across his fingers like his Uncle Bill had… and it fell down a crack. It took hours of slow, patient wiggling to get it back. He had to move it back and forth and back and forth just to make the slightest progress, but he'd done it. Once or twice, he actually had to push the coin back into the crack in order pull it out farther.

That's what it felt like, trying to retrieve the memory attached to this cup. There was only one of significance, and he didn't think there was a death attached to it, but it definitely was associated with a very strong emotion. He was begging to grow frustrated - with himself, with the cup, with this stupid test. Why was this so important anyway?

Anger.

Anger, and the question _Why_.

That was the emotion. Someone had held this cup and felt recklessly, _blindingly_ angry.

"I got it!" He cried. His goofy smile came back, but it was tired. Slumping back on the couch, he took a few more deep breaths of relief.

"What did you get?" Agent Lockwood asked, amusement in his voice.

"It wasn't a lot" James admitted, embarrassed, "but one time, this cup reminded someone of something and they were so angry they chucked it across the room but it didn't smash because it hit the bed and not the wall." He was feeling lightheaded. At some point during his game of tug with the cup, Agent Lucy had returned.

Mr and Mrs Lockwood sat, bemused. He wasn't wrong about this. He couldn't be wrong - he'd felt that anger as if it was his own… but… what if it _was_ his own? The cup hadn't shown him anything until he'd started getting angry… but… No. That memory was real. He'd been Sensing memories in object for as long as he could remember, and he knew the difference between a psychic encounter and a physical one.

"Let me get this straight," Agent Lockwood sighed. "You got a memory out of this cup?"

"Yes, sir."

"And it had nothing to do with a death?"

"I don't think so, sir. They were just really really super duper angry. Sir."

"Interesting… can you describe the person who was angry?"

"Lockwood," Agent Lucy said as if she were warning him to back off.

"I know, Luce, but this could be good!" there was a playful little smirk on his face.

"You always drag this part out for too long."

"I do not! Besides, it's a pretty interesting story he's concocting for us."

"It's not a story!" James interrupted. "It happened! It was a boy. This cup reminded him of someone - a girl I think - who let him down and he was so angry he chucked the cup."

"I see…" Agent Lockwood considered this. "And were these two, the boy and the girl, romantically involved?"

James paused, tightening his grip on the cup. The connection to the memory lingered, but it wouldn't last much longer. "No," he said finally. "I mean no, sir. I don't think it was like that. She did something, or didn't do something, and he wanted to know why, but he couldn't figure it out so he got angry and threw the cup. I think this cup had something to do with it. Maybe."

Agency Lucy made a noise that sounded like a scoff, and James' heart broke just a bit.

Suddenly, Agent Lockwood jumped up and dashed from the room. James could hear him yelling for Agent George.

"What do you want?" he grumbled as he entered the room behind Agent Lockwood. "There are at least 12 more kids out there, and my tea is getting cold."

Agent George hadn't exactly been welcoming when he'd taken James' personal information, and he'd scoffed when James gave his address. Still, the memory of him from six years ago, confidently sweeping up the Source and stashing it away in a silver box, echoed in James' mind. The admiration he felt for this team hadn't faded either - if anything, as stories of their exploits that week circulated over the years, it had only grown stronger.

"George," Agent Lockewood had a bright glint in his eye. James had never seen anyone switch manners so drastically. His original weariness had been completely obliterated and replaced with a kind of excited frenzy. Neither Agent Lucy nor Agent George seemed troubled by this, however, so James decided to just sit back and watch the exchanged as Lockwood continued. "We need to know if you've ever thrown this cup."

"Might've done…why? What has that got to do with anything?"

"Do you remember why you threw it?"

George looked at Lucy and sighed. "After Lucy left. I tried throwing it at the wall but… I missed. It hit the bed instead. What's this all about?"

"George - this boy Sensed it."

"What?" George turned a scrutinizing gaze onto James. He felt like he was under a microscope. "Aren't you the one from Albury Castle?"

"Yes, sir." It came out as a squeak.

"And what, exactly, did you sense from that moment?"

Be honest, he reminded himself. "Anger, sir. And confusion. The cup reminded you of a girl and you never wanted to see it again."

"Sounds about right. It's astounding you picked up on that…" James expected him to be defensive, but he needn't have worried. George was clearly more interest in James than the potential invasion of privacy. "Anything else? Did you see the moment?"

"It… it looked like a bedroom. I saw it bounce off the bed and land on the floor, but not much else."

"Fascinating… I wonder, do you two think this is something the other kids could Sense?"

"George, aren't you going to explain what this kid is talking about?" Lucy had splayed herself over the entire couch.

"What? Oh, that. I had such high hopes for you and your Talents. I also knew how Lockwood felt about you at that point, so when you took off for apparently no reason, I might have lost it."

"You think?"

James didn't know what they were talking about. From what he could remember, Lucy had always been part of the Company. Certainly she was in Aldbury Castle with the rest of them.

"Anyway," George continued, "if his Sense of Touch is that good, I want to be here for the next part."

"Excuse me?" James' voice shook, but at least it wasn't squeaking. "What's going on?"

"The cup is supposed to be a test of your honesty" Agent Lucy said kindly. "A low trick, but it's tradition. As far as we knew, it didn't have any psychic residue at all. You wouldn't believe the stories people make up when they're desperate. The real test of your talents comes next."

"Oh."

Agent Lockwood pulled out a box from under the table with a flourish. "Let's see what you make of these!"


	3. Chapter 3

James made quick work of the objects in the box. There were three of them: a knife, a ribbon, and a bone. He didn't want to touch the bone, and he was suspicious about the knife, however it turned out they were mostly innocuous. It was the ribbon that made his heart melt, and despite his best efforts he ended up crying.

He cried. Like a little baby. In front of the bravest people he'd ever heard of.

Lucy had argued with George - not for the first time, James could tell - about including the ribbon in this test, to which George had instinctively responded that they needed to know if the children could handle the "emotional trauma." At this, James took another deep breath (he seemed to need a lot of them today) and pulled himself together. Lockwood noticed his change in demeanor and said it was time for the next test.

This time, he almost wet his pants.

In fact, if he hadn't glimpsed the Skull in the jar all those years before, he probably would have. Whatever triumph he felt at digging out a memory that shouldn't have been there vanished in its eerie green glow. Its twisted and gnarled face leered out at him and grinned with yellowed teeth. The smoky substance within moved around the mouth, and he could Sense it was trying to communicate, but the actual words were lost on him. Needless to say he was quite relieved when they put it away.

Rapier evaluations were next. James was rubbish with the blade. This was not for lack of trying - he and the other kids of Aldbury Castle had grown up clanging sticks together. Some (James included) had taken to keeping iron crowbars around the house to ward of the occasional specter. Unfortunately, a rapier was neither a stick nor a crowbar, and he was told by Lockwood more than once to stop swinging it with both hands.

Agent Lockwood led him up to a sitting room towards the back of the house and told him to wait there until they were done testing the remaining children. It was a fairly small room, only large enough for a couch and an arm chair in one corner and a small end table with a straight-backed wooden chair in the other corner. He spent a few moments selecting a book from a built in shelf, then sat on the edge of the couch.

There had been at least eight kids in front of him, and - if George was correct - another twelve behind. He chose a book because he expected it would take awhile before he heard from anyone, but to James' astonishment, George lumbered in not ten minutes later with an entire box of objects, several pens, and a notebook.

"I want to see what you make of these," he said as he plumped into the armchair next to James and found a (mostly) blank page in the notebook, jotting down what was probably today's date and James' name.

"Uh, sir? What do you mean?"

"I mean you are obviously Talented, and I want to know what kind of psychic residue these objects contain. They're keepsakes from a few of our most recent cases. I'm an old fogey now and don't have an ounce of Sense left, so I need to you to tell me what kind of significance they have. None of our other agents is able to get much from them."

"O-okay." He could barely get that word out. Agent George had said "our other agents." Did that mean he was part of the company now?

George grasped a perfume bottle in his chubby fingers. "Let's start with this one."

And so, for the next few hours, James dove into the memories of one item after the other, and repeated every detail he could to Agent George. Only one or two objects had no psychic residue at all, several merely had one emotionally strong memory, but most - as he suspected - were a grizzly mix of violence, destruction, and death. The young man was intense; asking endless question and recording each answer in minute detail.

"Hauntings usually mean that someone did something to somebody," George commented when James expressed his discomfort with one of the more gruesome memories. "We can take a little break. I'll ask Holly for more tea and biscuits."

As he left the room, Lockwood led another child in. She was about James' age, chubby but kinda cute. Mousy brown curls framed a round face. Green plastic glasses framed brown eyes. She didn't smile, but James could tell that was more from anxiety than rudeness. Girls fashion was another thing that James knew nothing about, but she seemed to be emulating the kinds of clothes Agent Lucy wore in some of the newspaper photos. Black leggings, a long grey shirt dress thing, and a brown jacket and boots.

"Allie, this is James. I'm sure you'll get along quite nicely, especially since I can see that George has already spent most of the morning experimenting with James." Lockwood was glancing at the cramped notes. "No doubt he's gone to get cake," a smile played on his face as he peeked at James and winked. "Don't worry though, Allie here will have no trouble fending him off." At this, the girl stood up straighter and her cheeks went slightly pink.

With a swish of his long coat, Lockwood left the room.

She rocked awkwardly in the doorway. He fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch.

"So-"

"Um-"

They spoke once.

"You first."

"No, ladies first."

"I don't actually have anything to say."

"Me neither. I'm rubbish at making friends."

"Me too."

More silence.

"Do you want to sit down?" James hoped she'd at least feel more comfortable if they were both sitting.

"Um. Okay." She began to head for the chair on the other side of the room, then tentatively took the one Agent George had been sitting in next to the couch. Spending a few extra seconds to get comfortable, Alice eventually folded her knees to her chest and pushed the heels of her boots up against the lip of the chair. "So…" they were looking anywhere but at each other. "Where are you from?"

"Aldbury Castle. And You?"

"Tooting. Agent Lucy lived in my flat when she worked freelance."

"Really? I never knew she worked freelance…"

"Yeah. They said she had a major falling out with the company when they hired Agent Holly."

"Really? They seemed like such good friends when they were in Aldbury Castle…"

"That's where the Rotwell facility blew up, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"This was right before that. She came back from the Rotwell incident and packed up her things. Mum thought she was kind of odd back then, but you should hear her talk about Agent Lucy now. They'll be so proud if I get hired here…"

Something in the pit of James' stomach caught fire and plummeted to the floor. "I… I kind of thought we _were_ hired…"

"Are we? I don't know. Mr. Lockwood didn't say anything."

"But we've passed all the tests, I think. And we weren't kicked out like all the other kids."

"I supposed that's comforting."

"Yeah."

The conversation stalled for another few minutes, until Agent Holly came in and sat down across from them.

"James, Alice, would either of you like some tea?" She proffered the pot. Alice took one, but James wanted to ask for the bathroom before he added anymore liquid to his nerves. The pit of his stomach was still by his feet.

"Now," she began once they were all settled. "I believe some congratulations are in order. Out of a record number of 37 applicants, you are the only two who have passed."

Wide eyed and open mouthed, James and Alice slowly turned their heads to each other, then back to Holly.

They were _agents_. They were _officially_ agents.


	4. Chapter 4

There are many ways to describe Jonathan Stroud: author of this world and these characters is clearly factual. Brilliant, talented, and pretty cool for an adult are also accurate. However, there is one way to describe him that has infinitely more meaning: my favorite.

...

Only the Lockwood family actually lived at 35 Portland Row nowadays. Holly had never moved in, and George moved out after Lucy and Lockwood got married. Word on the street was he too had gotten engaged, but no one seemed to know to whom.

James and the other children would be staying across the street in 32. It was a tall, thin brick house. Someone had clearly been keeping an eye on the landscaping, and though there were some nice looking flowers, most of the greenery were lavendar bushes. Appearance, it would seem, was secondary to security.

Lucy waddled ahead of them up the pavement and unlocked the front door. The hallway was just as tall and thin as the exterior, but it seemed to go on for ages. Rooms dotted the left and right all the way back to a mudroom and screen glass door.

"You'll get your own keys once Virgil, Maria, and Derek move out. I think the boys at least intend to get their own flat, but Maria might stay now that she can have her own room… or did she decide to stay with Lilly… Sorry, what was I saying?"

"House keys." Alice replied helpfully.

"Yes. You'll get those eventually, but since you're the youngest you'll have to wait."

"Seems reasonable." Since her anxiety about being accepted had been dispelled, Alice had turned into quite a chatterbox. James just felt relieved. Emotionally relieved, that is. He still needed to use the restroom.

"Your rooms are upstairs. Let's go put your things down." Mrs Lockwood indicated the staircase tucked into the wall on their right. "And then maybe you can get settled?"

"Sounds lovely." Alice quipped and led the way up the stairs.

"Alice, you'll have your own bedroom, but you'll be sharing a bathroom with Maria and Lilly on the left. I think. You might be sharing with Lilly. The first door, I think. The next one down is your bathroom, and the third one is theirs… or Maria's. Anyway, Virgil and Derek have the master bedroom at the end of the hall, so James you'll be moving in with Fez. It's the second door on your right."

"What's the first door?"

"The bathroom, I think. Or a closet…"

It was a closet. Leaving Alice to chat with Lucy, he went to take care of business. He had to try several doors since Lucy clearly had the rooms mixed up, but eventually found the one he was looking for.

He returned to find the girls giggling.

"He asked me to my own sister's wedding!" Mrs Lockwood laughed.

"No way!" Alice was giggling, too. "So then what happened?"

"I had the most awkward weekend of my entire life."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he'd only said 'I suppose you'd need to find a date to that - want me to go with you?' so I figured he wasn't going as my boyfriend or anything, and he never really specified what he meant by being my date, so I didn't know what what going on between us." Lucy's imitation of Lockwood's voice had been oddly accurate and perfectly exaggerated. "And because I have more sisters than is strictly fair, I had to put up with their constant questions about who he was, and were we dating, and when were we getting married - I even had an aunt ask me if I was pregnant!"

"Oh my gosh! Did you have any fun at all?"

"It was kind of fun watching mum boss him about a bit. He's a rubbish dance partner though, which was entertaining."

"He's so good with a rapier though! How could he be a bad dancer?"

"I know right?" Lucy began to lead them back downstairs. "But I never said he was a bad dancer, just a bad dance partner. He's actually quite good when he's not doing the smiley giraffe or the blue whale…"

"I've never heard of those," James muttered.

"That's because he made them up."

…

Dinner was an extravagant affair. All the original members of Lockwood and Co had pitched in by making an extraordinary amount of spaghetti bolognese, garden salad, french bread, and cake. "Basic cooking lessons are one of many hidden perks to this job," George had remarked to James over the mixing bowl. "We just don't advertise it because if we did, every urchin would come knocking on our door!"

"Or run away while they had the chance," a skinny red head boy whispered in James' ear and winked when he caught James' eye.

Unsure of what else to do, or where else to go, Alice and James watched with glazed over eyes as the tiny kitchen of 35 whirled into a mess of tomato sauce and powdered sugar. And then it was whipped back into gleaming shape by the older kids - Maria, Lilly, Virgil, Derek, and Fez - who had the place tidied up and decorated in five minutes flat. Lockwood affectionately called them his favorite trained monkeys.

James' parents had had some fancy dinners in his lifetime, and he was pleased to see that there was not much difference between a celebration in Aldbury Castle and a celebration in London. Having said that, James knew his mum would never place a creepy Skull on the table as the center piece. He also had a distinct memory of being grounded for drawing on her freshly cleaned white table cloth. There was also no way the cake would be eaten before the spaghetti was served, but James wasn't about to complain. George proclaimed that this practice developed because whenever they saved dessert for last, it was always spoiled by bad news and unwelcome guests.

What he did want to complain about was the space. Or more accurately, the lack thereof. There really wasn't enough room for so many people. Agents Lockwood and Kips weren't even sitting, but leaning up against the counter. Maria and Lilly shared one of the larger chairs - James didn't know yet which one was which. The red headed boy was sitting cross-legged on the table itself, picking out strings of spaghetti from the communal bowl using his fingertips and splashing the red sauce everywhere. There was no taking a bite without elbowing someone in the face, and no turning your head without jamming your nose into someone else. James' chair was stuck in between Alice and Virgil's so he couldn't scoot it in close enough to reach the table. It was all he could do to keep the pasta from falling into his lap.

Lockwood used his fork to gently ting his glass. What came next was not polite silence and a speech but a cacophony of bangs, clanks, and chinks as the other members of the company took up all manner of cutlery and beverage holders to join in. The boy on the table, obviously doing his best to be intentionally obnoxious, rapped his knuckles on his thankfully empty plate.

Their leader gave an indulgent smile as the noise began to fade. "Alright, that's enough for now. As you may have noticed, we have two new agents this year - and we didn't even have to pay for advertising! And so," he raised his glass, "lets give them a toast, shall we?"

At this, everyone in the room raised their glasses and emptied it contents onto James' and Alice's faces. All at once. The pair sputtered and coughed while the others laughed, pounded them on the back, and said things like "welcome!" and "one of us!" The boy on the table was laughing particularly loudly, but shut up when a Alice splashed her wet hair into his face.

"Now," Lockwood continued, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, as much as Lucy and I love training you, we're expecting children of our own -"

"Child, Lockwood," Lucy interrupted. "We are having a child."

He went on, pretending not to hear. "And because we will soon have a bunch of little rugrats scampering about the house -"

"ONE rugrat! ONE!"

"We simply won't have room for you lot, what with the triplets Lucy is clearly carrying."

"I AM NOT HAVING TRIPLETS, LOCKWOOD!"

"I apologize for my wife, dear agents. Her pregnancy brain is obviously clouding her judgement."

"Lockwood." Lucy's voice had a dangerous tone to it. Her husband was the only one, however, without a nervous look on his face. If anything, his smile only got wider and brighter.

"Moving on," he said with a wink to his wife, "all this nesting and preparing for potentially several children means that Virgil, as the most senior member of our little band of trained monkeys, will be taking the lead on most of your cases from now on. Maria, since George is finally taking the trip to find more Spirit Capes, you will be our primary researcher." James watched as Virgil and Maria each straightened under his praise.

"You will begin tomorrow on your first assignments. Virgil, you and Fez will take James. His Sense of Touch is out of this world - I'm sure he will ben an excellent addition to your team. Go ahead and take the string of lurkers and shades on Willow street. Maria, you and the others will be taking Alice out to the shining boy at Marchline Square. It will be good rapier practice for her, and it will give you the chance to lead as well. Sound good? Right. Let's tackle the rest of this dinner before Lucy goes into labor."

"I'm only 5 months along!"

"Yes, but with quadruplets anything could happen."


End file.
